


𝓓𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼?

by Butch_THE_DeLorian



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P America (Hetalia), 2P America/2P Canada (Hetalia), 2P Canada (Hetalia), 2P Hetalia, 2Ptalia, Adam Duritz, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alfred Being an Asshole, Alfred F. Jones (Hetalia) - Freeform, Allen F. Jones (Hetalia), Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom James, Cancer, Character Death, Cocaine, College roomates, Creative Challenge, Drug Abuse, Drugs, Drummer America (Hetalia), Eminem - Freeform, F/M, Flashbacks, Gay Male Character, Guitarist 2pCanada (Hetalia), HetaliaCC, Human, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Internalized Homophobia, James Williams (Hetalia) - Freeform, Jay Z, LGBTQ Character, Literary References & Allusions, Liver Cancer, Ludacris, M/M, Mackelmore, Madelyn Williams, Marriage, Matthew Williams (Hetalia), Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Nyotalia, Pansexual Character, Pop Culture, Rock Stars, Roommates, Sad Ending, Same-Sex Marriage, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Teenagers, Terminal Illnesses, Triggers, Vocalist Canada (Hetalia), Wakes & Funerals, background Red Velvet Pancakes, coming to terms with sexuality, counting crows, lots of pop culture references, major trigger warnings, metna, nyo!Canada - Freeform, top allen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butch_THE_DeLorian/pseuds/Butch_THE_DeLorian
Summary: "Because...I began to realize that, despite my illusion of Independence, freedom, and consummate pop culture influence - I had always leaned on something. Science and faith, drugs and alcohol, music and money, Alfred and You: they had all been crutches for me." A chuckle, pained. "Sorry. It's just the truth.""Sometimes the truth hurts.""You're the only one I would ever trust with it...the only one I've ever...."





	𝓓𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼?

**Author's Note:**

> This was rewrote twice. I didn't like the outcome both times, and I'm not sure I still like this version. But here it is. 
> 
> This is for the Hetalia Creative Challenge. I choose 2pAmeCan and they gave me Roomates as a prompt. I took it and ran into something that is personal for me in more ways than one.

 

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> **March 12th, 2028**

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The heart monitor along the wall occasionally gave off a tone that suggested a slow heart-rate, far too slow for the medic's liking, but given the circumstances - it wasn't unsurprising. 

34 years young, the blonde Canadian strapped to the bed (with a butterfly needle and accompanying medicinal electrodes) perked a little when his cognition kicked in to the sound of footsteps rounding the corner. There were multiple sets, which wasn't exactly anticipated by the adult. Emerald orbs opened up, the blurry room around him flickering in and out of focus in (yet again) a relatively unsurprising swirling mess. He felt a cough rise from his throat at the disruption, taking over his body and causing his cardiograph to screech like a surprised cat with it's tale stepped on late at night. When the bout of sickly sounding wheezes settled into uneven breaths, a familiar dark, fair featured male gyrated, through the visual smog, straight into focus of his view. A set of concerned, dark eyebrows worried the line over the small nasal passages scared up from years of childhood abuse prior to mutual adoption. Short, uneven breaths suggested the Native had been running for some time, or panicked in his pathway to the white-walled building.

Although he wasn't the only one in the room - as the Canadian caught a glimpse of a bouncing, anxious blonde behind him along side the other two males he'd been spending half his life touring with. It felt so surreal to him, after everything that had transpired over the past three months. The chemo had taken the canuck's long, fair blonde hair by this point - leaving his lions mane decimated in the wake of his malignant, terminal Cancer that spread rapidly and destroyed his Liver. He could hear the small whimpers of the blonde some feet behind the looming Native American, as the fellow Canadian barely held it together. Behind him he knew the other two were probably comforting him - desperate not to make this harder on everyone.

"I told you to stop..." The New York accent broke the (aforementioned) only sound in the room. "Why? FUCK'N WHY YOU BASTARD?" That was him, always angry - unable to fully cope with his despair.

But despite the anger, barring the tears starting to make the familiar dual eyes, the laid up Canadian knew so well, fill up...

He could only stare, only marvel at the fair features and strong jaw. Emerald eyes could only manage to roam around the small nose, thin eyebrows with perfect curvature, and scars from so many years of previously mentioned abuse. The male could only marvel at the mismatched pair of eyes - such a malformation and yet so unique and true to the Rocket Raccoon-style 'nothing like me, 'sept me' that the multiracial male flaunted so well in no uncertain terms. The left was such a glorious blue, clear and glorious with sparkling strips of aquamarine flecking themselves around the pupil - whilst the other was a deep, unusual red that one would only find in the rare albino human. It was such a fascination to the laid up male, always had been, how this flamboyant Vegan could tout such an unusual pigment and retain 20/20 eyesight. The only problem with his eyesight was an unusual condition in which his red eye was unable to be exposed to the sun directly. It's one of the reason why he carried a pair of sunglasses about, ready at a moment's notice to flick down and protect the sensitive, but beautifully coloured spec. Xeroderma pigmentosum that accompanied heterochromia, an unusual set of traits that could only accompany such a unique male as-

"ANSWER ME, JAMES-" The scream's audio waves were sent directly into the features of the Canadian - waking him from the revere he'd been trapped within the unyielding claws of. It caused the male to tense - coughing from surprise as his cardio monitor jumped uncomfortably.

"...You came, Allen-"

It caused the male pause, eyebrows furrowing further into the upper nasal crease between the forehead and the nose. Allen turned his head, stepping aside as if to show the more shocking presciences beyond his own. James's eyes couldn't quite focus in, but they didn't have to swirl into focus for him to recognize the coloured blobs of his band-mates (among them his ex). 

 **Alfred**. 

Alfred was someone who was a bit of a surprising turn around for him. He'd loved him at one point, and the feeling was obviously mutual and made considerably clearly. Not only that, but the blonde American was one of the major fingers pulling the trigger on his love life. If it weren't for Alfred's touchy-feelie drunken behaviour one night many years ago, he'd probably never even come to terms with himself. Lord knows where that would have left him in the long run, and the eventuality of it all probably would have ended up in some tangled scandalous picture a paparazzi member had taken in the back of an alley somewhere. Feelings had never entirely left either of them, and James knew that full well from a long time admittance some 324 days ago. But that didn't change the fact that they had never meant to be together. Fate was like that, sometimes you just had to understand what love was and what attraction was - differentiate, and put the attraction in it's place. It was something that was placed in a drawer with lock and key, never to be opened up in the wake of their lives. Alfred had kids, at this point, along side a loving wife. And James had Allen. Things were never meant to be between the both of them, and that was just the way fate decided.

James learned long ago never to fight with fate, for it would only make your life miserable in the long run.

 **Matthew**.

Matthew and him were the first to come up with the concept of the band, beginning on one teenage summer evening after having become friends out of necessity. Since they were the more socially awkward in their small school (after James moved there), they'd hit it off by James accidentally sitting at the same lunch table as the other. He hadn't even noticed until they finished eating, in which Mattie spoke up to thank him and James, being the socially awkward moose he was - scrambled for some semblance of feigning like he knew the male was there the entire time. (Which by the way, he thought it was an empty table...) Never-the-less, James found himself thereafter drawn to sit with the male out of pity and a sense of familiarity. One day, out of the blue, James began having a crush on his companion and asked him to spend time after-school with him. Of course, James would've denied his orientation to the last - his own inner demons clouding his judgement. Never the less, Matthew seemed more than willing to oblige, having no friends - besides the taller Canadian - in the world. That night, Matthew discovered James's guitar playing abilities - and the idea for LIFELINE was born. 

Thanks to Lifeline, Matthew came out of his shell as the Lead Vocalist, transforming from a soft spoken smol bean, offstage, into an angel in goth attire, on stage.

James doesn't entirely remember when he stopped seeing Matthew as someone he loved and started thinking of him as family. Perhaps it was his misunderstanding of what love was, certainly his biological family weren't exactly the most 'loving' anybody could be. He grew up believing that love was something someone gave you when they disdainfully sent you off to eat and go back into a basement for the night. He grew up learning that if he didn't remain quiet when his father came home, he'd more than likely get struck by a broken beer bottle and kicked in his rib-cage. He grew up believing that the sun wasn't something somebody would attempt to capture for you-

He grew up believing that love was pain. And nothing more-

Maybe it was.

It certainly was that way with Matthew's sister, whom he'd found himself involved with for quite some time. 

 **Louis**.

Louis was an unusual soul that joined the band last, taking up a station out of their natural need for a Bass Guitarist. On occasion, the Frenchman provided his melodic baritone for back-up singing, along side Alfred's more high tenor. But this was rare and far between, mostly a more background member of the band beyond the cult following of groupies that occasionally crowd in forums on the internet. Of course, that didn't leave him out of the metaphorical family by any stretch of the imagination, as James was still very close to him - especially since they were the only two who spoke fluent french. Although Matthew spoke his fair share, his Quebecois heritage gave him a more regional dialect that the more formal French speakers in the band (i.e. the aforementioned Louis and James) couldn't exactly pick up, upon. At the same time, Louis was also known as the 'father figure' of the band, having been the oldest. That didn't mean he acted like it by any stretch of the imagination, as he tended to actually have the exact opposite of a 'fatherly' personality. Luckily for them, though, this also was a boon to the band, as he tended to keep them in line and on time. Alfred was hectic, Matthew wasn't assertive, and James was...usually on methamphetamines...so having Louis around was like having a whip to keep them somewhat in shape.

James remembers many a philosophical conversation with the man. 

Perhaps he was the father of the group, certainly despite his harsh, short demeanor he did take care of them all. And James certainly found himself looking up to Louis all the way...

It hurt him so much when that damn Frenchman turned his back on him....

**His band.**

But why?

Not more han half a year ago they'd whipped their hands of him, right along side Allen, claiming him too much of a hassle and refusing to be apart of his 'problems'. When James had attempted to talk even Matthew out, Alfred drug him off with a finality to it. It only took one glance to the man that he'd met on tour to realize that Allen was serious - carrying a suitcase that signaled his permanent departure. The band, and Allen, had abandoned him, leaving him raging against the world and breaking the more pricey objects in his home. The spiral left him on the floor, throwing up from how much he'd exerted himself. The end result left him going to the one thing he always knew would be there to take him away from the anxieties in his life - leaving him feeling numb in a blissful fashion. Lucky for him to have the kind of money he could spend on new needles every-time he needed to shoot up.

He had refused to spend Christmas alone, that night, and so he'd gone down to the local club and show his new single life, off. The reality of the situation was, it only left him feeling more alone as people gaving him passings - offering Alcohol, their bodies, their livelihoods...anything for one night with the Lead Guitarist of LIFELINE. Those who didn't recognize him occasionally took pause, noticing the sickly look around his eyes and shaking hands. That night he was hauled out near closing time after having punched a bouncer who simply attempted to coax him out peacefully. The next months were spent in misery, until he'd passed out inside a jail cell from not getting his routine chemo treatment which he'd secretly been getting. Unfortunately, even with the Chemo, the cancer cells weren't exactly going away. His body hadn't been responding well and the lack of treatment for the next month was just the final pin to drop.

James's eyes lurched a little, rolling in his head and causing a collective gasp from the gathered gaggle of the people he knew so well-

"Why couldn't you just...just st'ahp?" The multi-racial male cracked a little, his usual demeanor finally giving completely to the pain of seeing the man he knew so well, in this stasus.

James opened his mouth, searching for a _reason_ -

 

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> **August 21st 2013**

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Slumping down against the chair James sighed and rubbed his temples. The idea of his band had come crashing down when Matthew had decided to go to a separate college than the one his adopted family was forcing him into. Okay, he admitted it. He didn't exactly want to be here....

Alright, that was the understatement of the century. He despised the place, filled to the brim with campus security and authority figures all alike. The professors were wry, the students were brainwashed, and there wasn't a person in sight who didn't wear the emblazoned Lion of the University's mascot. 

_GO DOWLING! WHOO LIONS!_

Bleh.

 ** _Lions-_**? More like...

... _like_...

 _Fuck_ **you** _._

James chided himself on his inability to generate some comeback to accompany his personal hatred for the amount of students on Long Island who all were rich-pricks, brainwashed into believing that in this world you needed to conform, or you were a piece of trash not worthy of other's time-

"Is this seat taken, _doll-_?"

The sound of a voice, gratingly similar to all the other New Englander's, broke James' depressingly grumbling train of thought. His Emerald orbs perked up, mouth opening to tell whomever the intruder was about him and the horse he road in on (for barging into his college dorm), but his breath was instantly taken away by the sight of beautiful dark features and two different eyes. A moppy set of curled over red hair laced itself along his skull, stretching over and fluttering out around his neck. He had sideburns, but small ones that dipped down and stopped short hardly even enough to get halfway down his ears. A cocky grin highlighted the statement, accentuating the first personality that wasn't a completely overwashed male out for good grades and a 401k. A few beats of his jaw moving later, James jumped up stupidly from the beanbag inside his dorm, almost as if the question was a received command to a well-trained dog.

Laughter responded to the motion, dark and soft; "Well look atchu, ah' gung ho n' shit." The male took the spot immediately, stretching out his legs and grinning like a maniac. "Ya know, I think if ya keep this attitude up, we might even get ah'long, feel?" And with that the dark skinned male patted James' ass, making him flustered and provoking his temper.

"-Scuse moi? What gives you the right to do that?!"

"The fact that you're a sexy lumberjack lookin' mofo~" Allen flirted casually, second nature to him.

James backtracked, irate at the male for his flamboyant flirtation and angry at himself for being tempted by it whilst in the first week of his current relationship. Besides, two very important facts. 1 - he was not gay - and 2 - Lumberjack was such a painful Canadian stereotype that it wasn't endearing being called it by the epitome of 'New Yorker'. "Fuck off." The male glared, "And get the fuck out of MY dorm."

The man raised an eyebrow with a grin, almost like he found his temper adorable. James cursed this guy, cursed him to the pits of h-e-double-hockey-sticks and back. (Or if you prefer proper capitalization, h-e-double-tooth-picks) "Yo' dorm? Din'cha get the memo, blondie? Im ya roomie."

" ** _What_** -?!"

"Great, in'it?" A suggestive wink accompanied a follow up statement of flirtatious proportions; "Now we can get up to all sorts of naughty stuff together~"

"FUCK YOU."

"That better be a _promise_ ~" 

 

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**October 30th 2013**

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James wasn't superstitious, it just wasn't in his nature. I mean, he believed in God, there was certainly faith implanted in him by prayer and years of liberal christian influences...

But he never believed in the silly superstitions surrounding All Hallows Eve. Everybody, whom was anyone, knew that Halloween was a silly pagan holiday that eventually migrated into a founded station taken completely over by the Candy Companies. As a man whom had two different fields of study, one minor in Commercial Music, and the focusing Major in Psychology - he knew all too well that a little dramatic music and eerie settings could go a long way in making the human mind play tricks on itself. Besides the fact that humans had a way of attempting to explain strange occurrences with wild accusations against black cats and karma. The fact of the matter was that the world just occasionally had strange things happen, but they could usually be explained through scientific means. Simple laws of the universe tended to be flaunted on occasion, especially in the wake of his faith. But the simplistic nature of the world was just that.

Something seemingly unexplained, could usually be explained through scientific deduction and study - eventually leading towards the inevitability of conclusion and publication of findings.

This was the same in the field of Biochemistry, Psychology, Physics, and every member of the spectrum in between-

So when Allen, and his friend Alfred, kept attempting to get him to participate in the festivities - he was well over the line of unwilling. It wasn't until Allen actually played (VERY VERY) dirty and drug his Girlfriend into the mess, causing her to show up all pouting and begging for him to dress up and come to a party, that he finally relented. Finding the entire thing dull and overplayed, he purchased the first costume he could track down (aka a Werewolf mask and gloves, along side some accompanying ripped up attire and fake blood splatters) in order to attend. His girlfriend, Madelyn, bless her soul, had dressed up in a cute outfit with a red hood. She claimed to be matching his 'big bad wolf' look down to a tee, which I suppose was the truth in a certain fashion. He almost found it slightly amusing that she claimed him as such, I suppose the usual looming slouch and height he naturally exuded didn't help the adjectives (not to be applied to the canuck) in the slightest. So, finding his Girlfriend amusing enough with her insistence on the 'Lil Red' and 'Big Wolf' match, his view on the party was slightly looking up. Not that he was going to turn into a social butterfly within the next millennium (and probably beyond even that), but his cute blonde made it tolerable.

As they migrated in James and Maddie made a point to avoid the drunken louts, stumbling about outside, like the plague. His fingers tightened around her hand, emerald orbs scanning the scantly clad women and men in respective outfits that made him surprisingly disdainful (in that moment) towards Police, Cats, and Librarians alike. Despite the coalition of sexual innuendos outside, reaching the internal party wasn't quite horrendously packed as James's previously counted within his cognitive mind. Although the college-age males and females were gyrating and throwing their hands up with features lit with joy - James was pleasantly surprised at the quiet recesses where more muted teens (and adults alike) were packed in groups. On this night, the Goth kids joined in with the Preps, creating a colourful party in which you occasionally could mistake the far-away social factions. Blacks and reds, mixed with tones of varying costumes all could be counted among the mildly, to majorly, drunk. Madelyn grew excited, ready to be apart of the crowd for once rather than blending into the background much like her brother, Matthew. 

Tugging on James's arm, she led him within the confines of the crowd. Despite his discomfort (on being trapped within a gaggle straight out of _Animal House_ ) James went along with it so as to please his joyous girlfriend. He pressed his body to her and moved, awkwardly swaying to the music in more traditional fashion than the way the surrounding ruffians. Maddie was about as socially impaired as her brother, the taller Canadian knew that well enough. She seemed content by the proximity, more than likely completely ecstatic just to spend quality time with her boyfriend no matter the setting. Although there was the occasional gawker, giving them a look like they were out of place - they didn't meet any issues until a male fell into them - almost knocking over Madelyn in the process. Being the sweetheart she was, the female started to apologize - but she didn't have time before James picked the offender up by his collar. The male's emerald eyes were filled with daggers, ready to bitch at the person who committed such a crime of falling all over himself enough to knock into the Canuck; however, recognition set in when the tall male recognized the man held up within his palms. 

Dark, crimson hair was one semi-unusual trait, but those mismatched eyes were far to unique to mistake. James huffed and let his friend down, giving the gawkers around him room to grumble (from the lack of excitement) and meander back to their previous activities. "Damn, you get gung ho, big fuck-" Allen tilted his head, cracking a far-too cocky grin for the Canadian's liking. Rather than respond, the tall male merely leaned down to aid his girlfriend in rising onto her feet. He knew well enough that she could end back up there anyways, but it was the chivalrous thing to do - and he was hard to convince that chivalry was dead despite evidence (prior to that point in his life) to the contrary.

Madelyn ended up hugging Allen, far too kind for her own good. Almost instantly, James noticed that the contact left the dark skinned, red-head with relative discomfiture, rubbing the back of his head and clearing his throat. "Aw, ya' waaaay to fuckin' touchie feelie, feel?" He had mentioned during, despite not pushing her away. James just shook his head, knowing well enough that all innocently sweet behaviour left the Native out of sorts. Crossing his arms, James shifted his feet over onto his right leg and waited until Madelyn naturally migrated back and hooked her arms around the elbow he had randomly sticking out to his left. 

"Oh Allen, it's good to see you!" She said, acting as though it was surprising he was here, when it was him in fact that invited them. "Where's Alfred?"

Allen gave off some kind of strained grin, jerking his thumb behind him and pointing out the drunk blonde, body wrapped all the way around some unidentifiable fair-skinned, tall female. James's expression shifted - a strange emotional tugg pulling at his heartstrings internally. Why this was a thing...he couldn't place...

Nor could he exactly pinpoint the exact meaning behind the sudden squirm within his breast.

"I saw ya from across the room. You two up for drinks?" The red-head pushed back against a gyrating man intruding within their space, giving reality to their situation. The fact of the matter was, people were starting to dance their way back within the area again, and eventually the spot would get very tight for three attempting to carry on a conversation. But that was an obvious statement easily noticeable...what wasn't rapidly discernible generated a surprising sorrow that tightened somewhere within the confined stretch of James's right sternum. It engendered a frown that permeated the tall, blonde's features and made him feel for Allen. The male, despite all his pretense of being the 'life of the party' and the multitudinous contacts within his Samsung Galaxy...

The American felt just as alone as James was...

For behind that casual shrug of his shoulders and cocky grin, there was the desperation of someone confined to a constant third wheel. He'd come here with Alfred, whom had hooked up with someone. And although any manner of men in the room would probably be more than willing to oblige Allen on any filthy words whispered, in the heat of the moment, he didn't need that. Yes, maybe it had been on his mind the entire night, but the red head wanted more than just a bedroom partner that night...

He wanted a friend.

 _Was_ a friend **that** foreign a concept to him?

James guessed so from the look in his comparably distinctive eyes.

Madelyn, even being as intelligent as she was, didn't quite have enough social observances to pick up on something so tenuous as hidden loneliness. Feeling pity, James spoke up with a nod; "You know, that wouldn't be horrible. I am mildly parched from all the Terpsichore." Although the Canadian rarely had any semblance of what most consider 'smiles', a mild grin was a stark contrast to the usually muted, neutral emotions reflected within his features. His girlfriend seemed to want to complain, tugging on his arm and leaning up towards his ear where she whispered that she would prefer to stay on the makeshift dance floor. Although it didn't feel particularly chivalrous, in that moment, his head turned slightly to leave a peck upon her forehead. Taking her features in his hands - he felt something tug on his heartstrings. The emotions felt forced when he promised her if she stayed there he'd return after a short conversation with Allen. Being the understanding, and sometimes overly indulgent soul she was, the female instantly brightened and kissed him on his lips. It was the first time she'd made the gesture, and James felt his body tensed as if someone suddenly wrapped ropes around every muscle and pulled them tight. If she noticed, Madelyn was almost absolutely perfect at hiding it. The contact broke off, and by the time his eyes met Allen the male had looked away - seemingly uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was just the public display of affection, but James had a feeling it probably had something to do with Allen's nature as someone who had different preferences.

The two pushed their way through the grooving crowd, getting through faster due to James's imposing prescience. 

Honesty being told, Alcohol wasn't James's first choice of consumption. He'd seen the kind of effect the substance had upon his father and feared the liquid as a result. But when Allen shoved a Budweiser into his open palms, he felt peer pressure building up within his chest until he convinced himself he could probably handle just one bottle. Although he was just under the age of legal consumption in America, his fingers vacated the presence of the fluffy, gray wolf head (from it's place over his own) before the thick, hot liquid touched his lips and slid down his throat. A burn radiated from his pharynx, giving insight into a lack of comfort via the raw beer. "Put s'm metaphir'l hair on ya' chest, fucker!" Allen had a shit-eating grin stretching across his fair features, more than usual anyways. Now that James paid close attention, he noticed the unusual slur within the red-head's voice. This was probably as a result of one-too many, already, not that James had any control over his roommate and the habits he exuded.

The first sip was a little too much, and he mentioned so aloud without seemingly realizing it. This seemed to egg Allen on, prompting him with a - "Don' tell me yo' ass never had any, before? Ah, dude! Get some more in that face of yo's." - and clinging fingers which forced the bottle back to James's lips. The Canadian coughed, not prepared for the liquid which, yet again, forced its way down with a fire that spread from his cervix on down. "YEAH! See? First 's a taste, second is like s'c'nd base, third is the best, bitch!" Well...the Canadian gave his American roommate credit for one thing...he sure did have his way with creating stupid phrases. James wouldn't exactly call it a 'silver tongue', it was far from it. But if nothing else, the male was exuded a certain confidence - and that went a long way when it came to the noises produced via the larynx.

"I think...nah..." James said, not exactly concurring, despite his credit to the phrasing. His fingers started to slip the bottle down again, ready to leave it idly along the table like so many empty, and half empty, bottles before it (everywhere else in the frat-house).

"Awww come on, big fuck, just one more!" Allen coaxed, reaching out his hand to clasp against the booze. His fingers wrapped around the bottle, falling forward a little and seemingly not noticing the fact that his digits were almost laced with the Canadian's. James felt disgusted at himself for noticing, a tingling going up his arms like an exciting electric current. On one hand, he wouldn't judge Allen if the male wanted to bring men into his bed, it wasn't his business to critisize what other's did with their nightly activities. It was their business, and if they enjoyed life why should he tell them what to do otherwise? On the other hand, he resolutely was _NOT_ gay. Attempting to ignore the sensation, he was unable to ignore Allen's insistent prompting (partially by trying to push the bottle up to his lips again) and took another sip. Surprisingly, this time the burning wasn't as intense - and it was rather a more pleasant warmth that spread through his chest.

Whether it was some strange, twisted suggestion psychology or peer pressure forcing his body to like the substance, it seemingly was working. He felt his shoulders ease up from the expectation of a fire, relaxing quite a bit before Allen let go and grinned; "There ya go, big guy! Great, 'n'it?" James felt a hum radiate from his throat as he took another sip, the third patching a path that led towards enjoyment of the alcoholic beverage. Allen seemed to clasp his arm, jerking his head with excitement filling his features; "That's it! 'Cha got it, moose humper." A flash of Madelyn tugging on his arm filled his mind (almost like a strange sense of deja vu) as Allen started pulling him towards the crowd, eyes twinkling with something James couldn't entirely place despite all the knowledge on human psychology he had laced within his cranium. He felt the wood floors creak below him as his skidding stride made it to the crowd again, not very much to his pleasure by any stretch. Flashing red, green, and blue lights took over his eyes whilst the scent of human musk filled his nasal passages. Surprisingly, his scent based senses didn't even get a bit bothered by it despite how acrid and pungent it was within the air around him. This was noticed only as his tactile sense lit up with both of Allen's palms, a grin forming its way within his vision. 

James  had assumed Allen was taking him back towards Madelyn as promised, but instead his roommate began swaying to the music with statements about how James needed to 'learn to loosen up and live a little on his own'. Mildly affronted, but deciding that was just Allen for you, the Canadian went along with it so as to get the bug of his metaphorical back. If he waited long enough, Allen was going to gain his fill of companionship and look for a different type of 'friend' to take back to their room. It was just a matter of waiting things out, James concluded. In the meantime, he decided just to feign a little sway to his hips whilst he drank, keeping his eyes pealed for any opportunity to shepherd Madelyn over. It appeared she had left the crowd, whether to vacate herself or because she was worn down, he had no idea. 

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** 10:35 PM **

* * *

 

One drink turned into another, the taste of Alcohol rapidly starting to gain a pleasing sensation upon James's tongue. Allen was more than happy to make frequent trips to the table where the illegal alcohol was, eyes becoming more and more unfocused as the night wore on. Hands exchanged bottle after bottle, eyes unfocused, mouths filled with laughter and strange words that slurred themselves into an unhinged oblivion. There wasn't really any point nor pretense to the conversations that eventually drifted into the left corridor - Allen claiming he needed to vacate his bladder. The man had stupidly suggested a 'sword fight' somewhere among the drunken ravings, to which James had pushed his head away and told him where he could stick himself for the duration of that train of thought. Some kind of joke was about to be returned, something along Allen's particular brand - but James had halted dead center and was no longer paying attention. For in the middle of the room was his girlfriend, Madelyn, wrapped around a man with a similar costume as his own. 

Something terrible stirred within his chest, possibly a need to scream about something...

But mostly he felt numb as he turned away and stormed off, leaving his cheating girlfriend and her paramour standing in the hallway - possibly still all tangled up with tongues and roaming hands. His feet didn't have a direction, just traversed until he was out into the street and tearing towards his own van. Just as he made it to the red mini-van, a sharp female voice pierced the veil of his ears. James found his hands shaking, clenched in fists in an attempt to keep from punching something. The psychology student knew well enough that everyone had a flight or fight response system, and his tended to favour fight more often than not. Which was a stark contrast to his girl...his former girlfriend...whom always acted as though she was too sweet to do anything but have flight. 

As that thought occurred to him, another implanted that went along the lines of ' _did I ever even know her_ ' and resonated towards his breast, terrorizing his level anxiety and dragging it so high it could've been on a flagpole. The dark grains of the road crunched under her rapid pace as she skidded before him, leaving little room for argument on her prescience before the male. Tears were stuck in her unusually gorgeous purple eyes, pony tails out of place, look a general mess from the hands of WHOMEVER that male was. The fellow canadian's expression became pleading as she spoke out; "James...I-"

"DON'T." The looming canadian suddenly became terrifying in his mannerisms, short and snappy with an overwhelming sense of fury that blocked out all reason. The alcohol didn't help, only egging on all the emotions that were admittedly warrented, none the less, overpoweringly dangerous. His features contorted, and the look of fear in her eyes made him all the more angry. Emerald eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, outrage more than obvious from just his looming, imposing stature that was starting to generate a crowd of curious spectators towards the scene. Somewhere in the crowd, James caught peripheral sight of red hair and odd eyes; however, Allen was not a concern to the Canadian in that moment, mind blocked and homed in on the source of all the phenomenally sized trauma starting to unfold before the onlookers. "James, please, understand. Let me just...explain..."

James felt the cliche statement to resonate with him in a bad way, emerald specs flaring open wide in a wild-eyed look that could scare off a rabid male lion, given the possible encounter; "-Th' fuck 's there to 'splain?!" He slurred, speech giving Madelyn a blast of beer smell. The canadian could tell she had a ticked off look flash over her features for a second, but rather than act upon it she seemingly (and intelligently) decided to stay on the topic at hand versus poking the metaphorical bear in the equation.

"-I thought it was _you-_!" She seemingly desperately attempted, amethyst orbs attempting to hide some kind of terror.

James concluded, in a split second, that the look was from guilt and he shifted his shoulders - hunching up more as if he was going to get violent. The gaggle of people were about as drunk (if not more so) than he was, and resultantly seemed only to egg him on despite the impending violence about to occur on the scene. As a side notation, James spotted the fact that Alfred had caught up to Allen, no longer having the girl hooked around his waste that he did earlier. His attention was caught only for a split second, before he shook his head and focused back upon the mess of a female before him. "- **You** fuck'n th' it was _ME-_?! H'w _the fuck_ ya make that **_MIST'KE-_**?!!!" The only thing that was coming out of this was James getting more beligerant by the second, and he felt a set of hands pushing against his arms, almost a soft coaxing for him to leave despite the crowd jeering for more action. It was almost like they considered this a reality TV show, some calling out things along the lines of: 'Yeah, tell that bitch dude', while female voices coaxed along Madelyn in the situation with statements similar to: 'You tell that man!'. Some among the crowd merely stood like observing wild animals to a surprising spectacle - eyes about as blank as a deer in the headlights. 

"H-He had a **mask** on- And by the time that-" She started to break in mid sentence, sobbing her eyes out in a fashion that only made James more irate; "-that... _w-_ we were intertwined I...I didn't look, my eyes were closed- James, **_PLEASE_**..." She started to reach out for him, trying desperately to clasp his features - but James had none of it, grabbing her wrists and forcing them away. When she wouldn't quit, his features lit up with wrath and he lifted his hands to strike her, push her back, harm her...

It was the hurt, the grief - it was piling up on him and he wanted her to feel the way _HE_ felt in that moment. He wanted her to feel the same level of anger and shame, of inner turmoil that took him over and left him feeling nothing but rage and inadequacy-

Arms grasped a hold of his, pulling back harshly with a strength that barely rivaled his own - but still gave him enough pause to whirl on the offending palm; "NO. James. No. She's not worth it." It was Alfred, his blue eyes were surprisingly serious for the normally goofy blonde's track record. Usually he was the one who was getting up to mischief and causing trouble...this time though, it seems the tables were turned. And although James opened his mouth to argue, to bitch and scream at the male for holding him away from the criminally cheating woman on the alternative side to his torso...

He didn't.

James felt his shoulders give way, leaving him numb and fatigued - the alcohol acting as alcohol always does, leaving him depressed as soon as the anger and hyperactivity faded away. It seemed that Alfred and Allen noticed the sudden emotional shift; for before he knew it their palms were aiding him into the passenger seat of his car - words being exchanged in hushed, irate tones before the van shifted with the weight of other humans. James was never more grateful than that night, for Alfred and Allen. It was the night that Alfred would clench a prescience in his life forever, and Allen proved his worth as a roommate.

 

But more than that...a friend.

 

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, bound tightly by the clawed grips of both liquor and fury, James registered the sound of _Counting Crows_ in his ears. _Adam Duritz's_  regionally indistinct tenor took over the backwater churning a frothing rage, over, in his mind.

 **_She knows she's more than just a little misunderstood,_ **  
**_She has trouble acting_ **  
**_Normal when she's nervous._ **

Lips pulled tight, the Canadian shifted from his slumped position (towards the center of the mini-van) up and situated in the passenger's seat. The motion led to his head tilting towards the right end, eyes scanning the line between blurred figures and buildings all coalescing into barely classifiable blurred lights, sights, and locomotion. Somewhere behind all the buzzing in his mind was a revelation, but the apifiny just wasn't ready to form within the intoxicated slough inside James's skull. As all this slowly started registering to the Canuck, a hand reached out from the backseat and firmly clasped his bicep - dragging him from a revere unto reality.

"...sorry, man." Allen said, apparently having forgotten his entire intent of a washroom break prior to the drama. James seemed to blink with the recognition that Alfred was driving, for the first time, having been to distracted to notice. The blonde across from James looked worn down and surprisingly grim for the natural boundlessly full-of-life aura he typically exuded. The radio's audio waves sifted their way inside James's ears, almost like an artist painting pigment into the lines of his work on a barely wadded over canvas. 

 **_Round here we talk just like lions, but we sacrifice like lambs_ **  
**_Round here she's slipping through my hands..._ **

"Hey, dude...she wasn't worth that shit, anyways." Alfred seemed to interject from the driver's seat, blue eyes vastly more clear than his counterparts'. With long lithe fingers, his steady control over the darkened leather wrapped protectively, in a cuff, over the steering wheel gave insight into his sober nature. Yet despite his seemingly calm control, there was a pain laced within his eyes. The familiarity of the expression made James's skin crawl, even drunk it was easily recognizable. Lucky for the American, he didn't have to halt the unfamiliar motor vehicle very far, as it was less than about 10 blocks to the dorms the university provided for their attending students. "If someb'dy can fuck ya over, they aint worth it." That slight slur in Alfred's voice was just his californian heritage; James knew that well enough from the overabundance of stereotypes that blonde hollywood-esque male produced on-the-daily. Barring the almost inconceivably multitudinous amounts of 'Dude'-'s and 'Sick'-'s his lips pushed forth, it was readily obvious from his mannerisms and the skateboard the blonde kept inside the dorm across from James and Allen's. 

Well...that and the "Californian Republic" flag hanging over his bed...

...and the Laker's Jerseys...

...

...and maybe he might have a surf board, too...

....just possibly....

His attention was brought back to his roommate about this time, emerald meeting a set of mismatched eyes. James noticed the subtle curve to his lips and furrowed eyebrows, but it was a split second observation in the wake of Allen's adam apple bobbing up and down. He was swallowing, straining, feeling harshly for James. Despite all his pre-tenses, it seemed Allen wasn't exactly a stone wall; James concluded after a few seconds that his roommate had rough edges...but meant well in the end. 

 **_But the girl on the car in the parking lot says_ **  
**_"man, you should try to take a_ **  
**_Shot. can't you see my walls are crumblin'"_ **

"...you tight, James?"

Emerald orbs were covered up in that instant at the question, reflecting the internalized struggle that had been raging far beyond Madelyn and her little blatantly caught affair - but was still churning over, like a world war, many years prior to even meeting the man with the query.

"... _James-_?"

Silence.

The car's tires continued to make their way over the edges in the squares previously laidened with rubber and tar, generating loud thumps to slightly intercept the sound of _Round Here_ and the socially tense silence.

" **James**...?"

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

> **March 12th, 2028**

* * *

 

 " **JAMES** -!"

The tones of his heart monitor filled a small void of silence after the man whom had shared almost half his life with James, prompted him once more; "...It was all...all I had left..."

" _ **FUCKER-**_! YA had ME!"

"...left...me..." He said, breath as short as his time on earth. The former blonde could feel the work of the lord against his breast, slowly opening the void of his chest and ripping away all pretenses of earthly form. It was strange, a lot of people had described death in pop culture across the years in multitudinous ways. The past few weeks James has sat inside this hospital bed, using the last of his funds (not used on drugs or paying insurance) buying books, most of his time reading them to distract (as best as he could) from the pain in his body that overwhelmed the senses and took him away from time and season. 

Quotes like _Jack Kerouac's_ On the Road:  _I realized it was only because of the stability of the intrinsic Mind that these ripples of birth and death took place, like the action of the wind on a sheet of pure, serene, mirror-like water. I felt sweet, swinging bliss, like a big shot of heroin in the mainline vein; like a gulp of wine late in the afternoon and it makes you shudder; my feet tingled. I thought I was going to die the very next moment. But I didn't die.._

And _Edgar Allen Poe's_ Premature Burial: _The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins_

Those definitively came to James's mind in that moment, but none so close as _S. E. Hinton's_ Outsiders: _I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you're gold when you're a kid, like Green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it's a good way to be. Stay gold..._

James never was gold. From the minute he first screamed into the world he was silenced by a lack of golden influences. He found himself situated in a rock and a hard place from the beginning, placed there by an abusive, drunken father and ending with self hatred for his orientation due to the words the drunken man still echoed so many times over. Words like 'faggot' and 'degenerate sex addicts' had been ingrained in his brain when he was around 5 years old and fearfully hiding in the closet from the raving lunatic he called 'dad'. Now, mayhaps, some years later the death of his mother prompted a social services visit that left him bereft of the home he knew for 7 years - handed over into the palms of a kind, open minded British woman who couldn't have her own children, but his father never really left. Even in the years he was taken via the police, handed from several families, and finally sent to America where the Brit was...

His father's drunken ravings and general prescience still rattled around in his brain....

Even after he forgot the sound of his voice and couldn't even entirely discern what his facial features were like - whether he looked more like his mother or his father...

The man still sat there, perched like a bird on a wire, hands grasped a hold of his collar every night - beating him senseless with strange, foreign profanities and slurs that weren't even entirely directed at James himself. Years of emotional abuse to a child during their most vital, and innocent years, tends to do that. On one hand, the British woman was kind and patient, even when she gained a lover in her life she always attempted to make time for him. But the kid, going on through his teenage years (and even in his adulthood as he barely called her once a decade, immediately regretting it after she passed on early from a heart attack) was always leery of her. Every movement she, and eventually her french lover, made scared him into hiding in another room or sent him into a constantly defensive position of observing them in a hawk-like fashion. In his social life, he eventually edged into his college years where the British woman kindly used the funds she saved, for him, sent him on into the college she'd migrated into the United States, just to attend. 

Meanwhile, outside the imaginings of a dying man, Allen was giving James a pitying look. Guilt, mixed with the love he once had for him, and stirred up in the cocktail along side feelings of sorrow flitted in and out of his mismatched eyes - which despite the age they were all starting to slowly show, were untouched and still as glorious as they ever had been. A soft hand reached up from the cancer patient, yellowed skin landing shakily on the cheek of the man who helped him, so long ago, come to terms with himself. Whom had given him a life whilst he had it. Whom gave him something, if anything in his life, that had a semblance of consistency...

"...Fuckin' **_why_** -?" Allen said, eyes filling with the only tears James had ever seen him shed in his life, once more. James took a long time, thinking things over like someone had asked him more than just 'why couldn't he stop doing drugs'. No, he sat there wondering like a man whom had just been asked the meaning behind life and the universe, creation and contradicting faiths. His eyes were soft, but thoughtful - reality hitting the canadian more now, than any other time. It was almost unbearable, seeing Allen like this - given the simple fact that Allen always was so full of life in his own way. Now, hunched over his hospital bed, the man looked like he couldn't imagine his life going forward. Blonde eyebrows furrowed over pasty skin, reflecting the guilt that seeped into James's eyes as if someone had fit the two with matching sweaters. 

"Because...I began to realize that, despite my illusion of Independence, freedom, and consummate pop culture influence - I had always leaned on something. Science and faith, drugs and alcohol, music and money, Alfred and You: they had all been crutches for me." A chuckle followed the deep statement, pained. "Sorry. It's just the truth."

"Sometimes the truth hurts."

"You're the only one I would ever trust with it...the only one I've _ever_...." They say your life flashes before your eyes...does it? All he could see was something dark fading over his vision, maybe it was his eyelids, perhaps it was something else. Either way, the canadian didn't seem to care enough to concern himself over it. Maybe he was just tired of running, tired of fighting - and now that his friends...his family...were standing before him he could finally rest. Like Argos to his master, he'd waited long enough and knew they were here for him, they were safe. And now that he could finally lay eyes upon them once more, fadded fur shedding and tired eyes left wanting, his legs could give and the final rest radiated within his mind-

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

> **January 23rd 2014**

 

* * *

 

 

It didn't even vaguely registered in James's mind as any day out of the ordinary. It wasn't until his roommate prompted the Canadian with a query out of left field, that the blonde became startled and off-putt. "... _Hey_ , moose humper-" It started as it always did, a grating nickname that gave James a headache. The sound of his pencil (that had been working hard on a thesis about hypnopsychology and why mankind only used it in the most dire of circumstances) flopping against the red wood making up his desk signaled pause to give attention towards the other. His black, leather chair on wheels squealed it's disapproval from being turned so sharply - colliding it's arm against the wooden structure James had been working on for the past hour and a half. James made sure to reach his hand out and steady the bottle of Coors he had sitting on the platform, insuring it wouldn't spill all over his thesis.

The sound of Allen's playlist was vaguely pumping in the background, but it had apparently been shifted to the low side of it's normally loud volumes due to Allen's need for conversation with James. Of course, the Canadian thanked anything for a respite from Allen's favoured hard Gangster Rap, given his hatred for the genre. _Eminem_ was well and good, in James's opinion, but when you started playing his older hits over and over along side non-stop _Jay Z_ and _Ludacris_ on an almost 15/7 basis...

Well that started to grate on the nerves more than a little.

"...oui?" His voice was flat, giving out waves of amusement like they were in style.

"D'ya _think_ your life flashes before yo' eyes before ya, you know, kick it?" The question jarred James, leaving him scrambling for an answer in a surprising twist. Generally he liked to avoid the topic of death if it was under his jurisdiction. On one hand, the thought of death was displeasing and endless - the canadian believed he could sit there all day and ponder it out if he allowed himself; On the other, the blonde male decided it was probably just best to leave it in the All Father's hands and not question things further than that.  Death was just one of those things humans shouldn't really be meddling in the affairs of, and although one could argue science tended to do that on the daily, with breakthroughs of medicinal means...James just tended to believe those means weren't so much meddling in the cycle of death as much as extending the trip of life. Of course, on the alternative side to that - when someone is ready to die it's probably time to allow them piece, versus pointless suffering in the long run. There was a fine line there, and it could probably be blurred and blurred all day if people kept arguing over it. 

One of the reasons James never really got into politics...

"...well?" Allen looked irritated suddenly, and it was probably due to his natural inclination of hating being ignored. Most people tended to hate being side-swiped anyways, but the red-head was particularly sensitive in that regard. James had long ago concluded that this was probably as a result of some emotional, or psychological scar from the multi-racial male's past...however it wasn't any of James's business to question or meddle in. 

"I think you're train of thought isn't healthy." James observed, taking an idle sip of the beer he'd previously rescued. Having already worked the bottle down to the half-way point, and then some, the male rapidly realized the flow of alcohol to his gut was running out. It didn't take him more than a few seconds to finish it, hand flitting out to land the container in a wastebasket three feet from his station. It seemed Allen knew the statement was over, and so he waited until James popped open a new Coors from the nearby mini-fridge before speaking; "My belief on the matter is that death is inevitable. If you sit and concern yourself over it, then you're just wasting the time you have left."

It seemed the deflection displeased Allen, mismatched eyes rolling irately before the other popped some more of the chips (set up idly against the wall next to him) inside dark lips. When they stretched open, James starkly noted the three strips of pink along the right, upper side; "-t's a fuckin' cop out and you know it." The Native mix huffed and leaned back further on James's bean-bag that he'd rapidly taken completely over almost like it was his own. "...come on, yo' ass is more intelligent _than this_ shit. Give me a straight answer, dickwad!"

"Only if you answer one yourself. Consider it tit for tat." James offered, head tilting slightly as he worked on the fourth bottle of booze that night, alone. His ability to hold liquor was rapidly becoming dangerous, as the more he drank the more he tolerated...and the more the canadian found himself wanting more. Despite the mild recognition that this habit probably wasn't entirely healthy, James refused to confront the possibility that it would turn into a problem. Instead, he found himself logically reasoning through it and claiming he'd get sober after the stresses of college faded.

A huff was barely heard over the start of a fresh song from Allen's playlist. This one, in James's opinion, was a surprisingly good song. The canuck could never remember the title to save his life, but he knew well enough that it was by _Macklemore_. Crossing his legs, he watched Allen open his mouth, unable to resist the need for an answer to his question (for whatever reason); "Fine, just give me a fuckin' answer, first."

"...Hard bargain, but I'll settle on compromise." James nodded as if Allen was even maintaining eye-contact - which the male wasn't. Instead, Allen had started messing with the stereo that currently streamed his songs on Pandora. The canadian leaned himself back, stretching out long, strong legs and slowly bringing a palm to his lips. The question was loaded, bringing a lot of baggage with it - pending the person - and Allen wasn't usually the type of person to just sit and dwell on these downcast topics. So that meant that something emotional was behind it, even if the other would resolutely deny it to his last breath.

Huh.

That's an ironic metaphor...

"I like to think the finality of it all..." James began after a moment's gathering of his own thoughts; "...I like to think it brings a tant amount of revelation." The conclusion wasn't apparently obvious, so the Canadian decided to continue after taking another sip; "In the end...I believe people do indeed reflect upon their life. Upon everything that has, and could...but I-" His phone buzzed, interrupting the conversation in it's tracks. It seemed the male wasn't interested at first, picking the cellular device up only long enough that he could click the side button and send it into silence; but the object persisted as soon as James got back on track. A growl ripped from his throat as he picked the offender up, eyebrows furrowed and jowl's curled like a cougar's; " **WHAT**?" He barked into the receiver, leaving whomever was calling him little room for pleasantries. A soft voice filled the other side of the line, rendering James temporarily muted at the sound of the familiar Canadian accent. 

"...wait...what do you mean?" James asked, not entirely comprehending the scenario due to the rapid jerks of tone and volume, filling up with the occasional french phrasing from surprise and excitement. The question seemed to catch Allen's attention, as he straightened a little with an eyebrow raised upwards. "...No. _Matthew_ , no. I have a life, now. We were teenagers, this is-" A sigh escaped as he was interrupted, punishing his nasal passages with a sharp pinch. "I don't care if you found a drummer. I don't even care if you found a unicorn with Pok-A-Dots. I'm in college. So are you. This is what adulthood is about, it's being responsible." A slight twinge of something mutely squirmed in his breast, eyes glazing over the bottle he'd sat down just before picking up his cellphone. "NO. I...look, Mattie. I'd love to see you. No- Don't get me...no. I'd love to. Just...I don't want to do anything like that. I'm two years into a degree in Psychology for fucks sake. I can't just drop things in the wake of something that may not even have any outcome..."

Allen was impatient, as always, jerking in the beanbag and screeching at James with a sharp; "WHAT?! Fuck is it?!" 

James had none of that behaviour, hissing and sharply waving his hand with a 'zip it' gesture straight from _Austin Powers_. A long stretch entered the room where James listened to Matthew, ignoring the squirming red head waiting in his beanbag. When darting, Emerald eyes became still - his shoulders slumped with a shake of his head. A sigh ensued, where-in he twisted his lips and looked uncomfortable; "Fine. Once for old time's sake. BUT..." The canadian suddenly shifted up his finger as if Matthew was there, in front of him, to see such a gesticulation; "...only once." As James closed his eyes, he listened to the sound of Matthew's soft tones filling with gratitude and excited apologies, coupled along side 'thank you'-s and 'this is going to be so much fun, trust me'-s. When the other hung up, James twisted his lips and shook his head. The blonde shifted head head and looked at Allen plaintively, as if he was any voice of reason at all. "...what did I just agree to?"

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

> **January 24th 2014**

* * *

 

 

"...I suppose it's been a long time, old friend." James pushed his fingers over the maple-wood of the neck, fingers sliding down the familiar feeling of silver plated nylon. The guitar was such a point of pride for him, having received it from the British woman, Olivia, on his 16th birthday. She'd found him strumming along on an old acoustic guitar her father owned once, and in a sudden surge of inspiration asked him if he wanted one of his own. Although, at that time, still mildly jumpy by the prescience of authority figures - he trusted Olivia a lot more than the others he'd ever seen in his life (at the time). The memory waned for a second, hearing Matthew's excited footfalls set towards him with a bright expression. "Oh thank god! I'm so glad you made it, Jimmy!" The familiar name rolled off, grating to the Canadian, but Mattie was the only one he'd ever allow to craft such a goobery nickname. As the smaller Canadian landed before him, hugging the male despite the hard instrument strapped around James's body, trapped between their torsos. By the time the male leaned back, craning his neck up to meet James's emerald gaze (the Canadians had about a foot of height difference to their names) a surprisingly familiar prescience came slouching up behind. 

"Well...ain' this jus' a small world! DUDE! I never knew ya played!" James could have jumped at the sound of Alfred, all crossed arms and leaning stance, grinning like a maniac behind Matthew. "If I'da known, you 'n I woulda jammed a long time ago! Fuckin' SICK!"

"...I'll be damned. So this is what happened to you after dropping." James said, Matthew and himself parting ways, in socially acceptable fashion, so as to allow the larger to meet the American. Two grins were exchanged, James reaching out his palm so as to shake Alfred's own in greeting of the familiar. But Alfred didn't go for it, opting instead for a bear hug that could have choked a fully grown moose. "FUCK-..." The surprised curse seemed to generate an apologetic laugh from Alfie, causing him to jump back and rub his neck with a blush. It was unusual, at least from what James knew of the male, but he started apologizing profusely.

Off-put, James accepted it and attempted to calm the poor American down from his high cliff of foreign anxiety. When Alfred seemed to calm mildly, Matthew was quick to step in and introduce the other member of the 'band' (which James profusely refused to call it as such), an unusually proper looking male with a cigarette between his teeth, claiming himself as having the name Louis Bonnefoy. After quick introductions were made, the Frenchman seemed to jump on the opportunity to insert himself - and brag - about how his father was 'good personal friends with _Daft Punk_ themselves' and how 'he knew so much about the musical industry, they really needed him'. James quickly recognized narcissism on him as if it was a plague, and made a mental note that he could have tinted shades of narcissistic personality disorder. But this was quickly pushed aside, for it seemed the focus was on the impending crowd starting to light up outside. It was a small crowd of about 20 people, and they looked to be regulars at the bar Matthew gave the address to. Despite the energy James easily picked up on (being the psychology expert he was), it was noted that they had an obvious criticism in their eyes. 

This crowd has seen bands rise and fall here.

They were going to be some of the biggest critics they had right now. 

...not that James cared. NO, at the end of all this he was headed back to college where he belonged - ready to set back up and situate himself back in the running for valedictorian some years down the line. Despite this notion in mind, James felt the fire start so spark up as soon as Matthew leaned back to wink at him - whispering the name of a song they'd long ago practiced so many nights over inside the confines of Olivia's garage. It seemed that despite all the years, and responsibility, that had set in - the Canadian still felt that familiar pull of the need to play. 

As the few first chords struck up, James felt his nerves (fueled by the eyes of the crowd) melting away in the wake of the rock music, taking him away from rhyme and reason and sending him into an unusual world filled with his own personal symphonies. As he closed his eyes, he realized he was back within the confines of the garage again - grinning like a maniac at the sight of Matthew gyrating and singing stupidly to old _Queen_ songs. Imagines flashed before his eyes, many twisting as much as his fingers did over the nylon strings he'd spent so many years strumming, once, long ago. There was an old saying in the musical world: _When you learn to play an instrument it never leaves you._

That was more true than any simplistic idiom they could ship off in some silly greeting card, laced around the world of music or not. And James was proving it rapidly, his fingers striking the familiar Major and Minor chords he'd grown so accustomed in his teenage years. Before long, even he found himself completely lost - caught up in the appassionata, the symphony, the music...

Suddenly, there was no crowd, no bar, and certainly no stage...

Music was taking him away into imagination-

The concerto was over before he knew it, song after song blending into one another in such an impactful way that the crowd was breathless and cheering by the time time ticked to the end of their gig. And as James shuffled himself downstairs and out the back-door where they'd originally stationed themselves prior to the musical display - a tug shifted his heartstrings into a surprising oblivion. He was so caught up in everything he felt as breathless as the attendants whom had been dancing to their composition. He felt the arms of his fellow musical talents wrap around his back, his arms, his shoulders, laughing and winded, just like the crowd outside. For once, in his life, James found a sense of fulfillment - bound up in the whirlwind of the music he worked so hard on many years ago. Mayhaps it was just his teenage effort coming into fruition on stage, but the sensation gave him a sense of boundless joy. 

For the first time, he let himself go in the heat of the moment - carefree and tilting his head back; "DRINKS ON ME!" 

Alfred punched him softly in the back, shouting something about drinking him under the table.

Louis grinned and shook his head, chiding Alfred in his boisterous behaviour.

Matthew let out a laugh and suggested they all just enjoy themselves and not place any expectations upon it. 

It was wonderful.

Who could have guessed the night got even more exciting by the pair of footsteps behind them belonging to a man from _Sony Musical Entertainment_...?

* * *

 

 

 

 

> **March 13th 2028**

 

* * *

 

 

"...Allen?" James felt his voice break the silence, possibly out of his control...or maybe it was very much in his control. Still retaining so much psychological information, the male presumed that mayhaps it was his intent to speak despite not even fully recognizing it as such. The human brain was a funny thing like that, sometimes acting in a surprising fashion that was unprecedented to even that which was the shell protecting it. Hearing a shift in the room, James could only presume (from behind the cloth that covered his fatigued eyes) that the familiar red-head had left the premises of whatever object he'd been situated on and migrated towards him. Just after this realization via base common sense, coupled with stimuli, a soft hand breached James's tactile senses. 

"...I'm...I'm here, Dickwad..." Such a venomous nickname, and yet the tone used for it was so soft and tender it suggested no malicious intent. That was the way Allen was, he just gifted those kinds of names to people, and despite their pretenses, they were like a normal man hugging a long-time friend. 

"... _that_ question you asked me in College-?" His worn out, groggy voice was almost foreign to James's ears. It wasn't a natural fatigue laced within his natural baritone, rather it was a terrible anemia that wrapped its way around his larynx and squeezed it with a pair of unrelenting hands. "...about...death..." After a loud cough in between, he finally seemed to explicate with the two words; his body temporarily levitated upright due to the wheezing phlegm evacuating itself from his throat. When the finality of it all hit, James landed with a slam (and a noise similar to an asthmatic attack), upon the white bed. The previously soft palm grew hard, clenching his bicep with distress. Feeling the arrest in the multi-racial male's touch, a blind hand reached out to fumble towards Allen in reassurance. Fingers meandered their way through facial features until it was guided, by the other, to be placed upon the right side of Allen's chest. The male wasn't usually particularly romantic, he tended to believe it 'sappy' and 'unnecessary', but people tended to show their most exposed underbelly's in the face of death's cold grasp. 

And James had almost died 3 times within the past twenty-four hours.

"...Jesus. 'S like a lifetime ago, but fuckin' yeah, e'guess..." Allen gripped, voice overlapped with an all-too obvious cocky-ass shield to protect his inner emotions. The sound could have made James cringe. It was a large amount of reality that suddenly inserted itself via the man whom had always stood by him despite all his shit. Almost like a punch to the face, his death couldn't have been any more brutal than the crackling sorrow behind Allen's usual 'know-it-all' tenor tones.

"...You **do**." His hypothesis at the time was correct, and laying as he was the evidence was plain and clear before his eyes. All of it...it was crystal like he was staring into the cleanest wine glass to be found within the world.

Surprise. "- _What_ -?"

* * *

 

> **June 26th 2015**

 

* * *

 

 

James could only shake his head at how excitable the three of his closest friends all were. Trapped in his new pent-house, shared with none other than his best friend Allen, and bounding along to _Single Ladies_  as if they were women in their fourties. James could have lost his shit had he been one to just belly laugh outright like that. It was late, well past the time they'd legalized same-sex marriages in the United States of America, and yet they still hadn't lost a single step to their strides. James had thought he knew well enough that Matthew didn't swing that way, not in this world anyways. But, as it turns out, he considered himself more than just an Ally, orientation landing in the classification of 'Pan'. He revealed this when coming out, seemingly in an open-ended relationship with Allen. That meant he was more than willing to stand up and swing it with the best of them - especially when Allen and Alfred were so happy to oblige the dancing. For once, nobody was forgotten, and they all were laughing and screeching into the night - well above the normal protocol of volume control. 

James didn't partake in the festivities, he was a bit of Switzerland on the matter. On one hand, he saw no issue with them kissing whomever they felt like and bringing whatever they considered into their beds. It wasn't his place to judge what others did in their private life, not unless they were close to him and he felt they were being harmed by it. But on the other, he wasn't _GAY_. So he had long ago stepped back and kept his Ally status on the down-low. 

Still, watching Allen and Alfred shake it, grasping Matthew and lifting him up just to torture the poor fecker for being so small..

It was kind of a hilarious spectacle.

It wasn't until his best friend's childhood companion slammed down next to him and laughed from fatigue, all sweaty forehead and heaving chest - that James began feeling mildly uncomfortable with the situation. No, he wasn't exactly a fan of the _Spice Girls_ , but he didn't knock them for listening to shitty, all be it overly happy, music in the wake of their victory. As Alfred gave out a horrendously drunk laugh and leaned into his chest - looking up with a grin, James felt a similar electric current rush through him, as it did whenever Allen made contact. This only made James squirm, pushing that observance down and trying to disentangle himself from a VERY drunk Alfred.

"The fuck, dude." James tried chalking it up to being tipsy enough that personal space was a lack-luster concept, merely pushing the other back long enough for Alfie to giggle enormously and flop back over again. It was a pretty believably goofy gesture, as Alfred tended to just have that in his veins. It seemed though, that the Alcohol was just bringing out his natural persona, but amplifying it far past ten fold. Rather than make a big deal out of things, James tried to ignore it and picked back up on where he'd left off from _The Great Gatsby_. It seemed that Alfred wasn't having any of this, though, as the male pushed the book down and wiggled himself up onto the canadian's lap. James was bombarded with the sight of a rosy cheeked male, all flopping, clasping hands towards his shoulders. Just as James opened his mouth to tell Alfred to 'fuck off', the American's pair landed upon his own.

This contact only lasted for a few seconds before several emotions rippled like tidal waves, over the Canuck. An electric current went straight to somewhere he refused the thought of on one side, whilst on the other he felt filthy and disgusted. His level of patience quickly gave out, throwing Alfred off of him and onto the floor below. The male crashed into the coffee table in front of his black leather couch, breaking it from the fast motion and human weight. It was such a shocker that a screech came from Matthew and Allen - giving them pause from their inebriated dance motions to gawk. Just as Alfred screamed 'what the hell, man?!' - James retorted the same, rising up to his looming 6' 4" in height and glaring; "NO. Fuck off! It's great you got a victory or whatever, but I'm not GAY. SO leave me the fuck out of it." And without room for argument the male went storming out, hands clasping his coat and slamming the door viciously behind him. It was a long walk down the stairs towards the front door of his pent-house, white walls seemingly seething along side his own inner anger.

"HEY. HEY. James! Dickwad!" Came a voice just as he'd opened the front door. His shoulders rolled at the sound of his housemate's tenor voice, only coupling his sense of wrath. "Jesus man..." The Native-Latino skidded to a car-crash style halt before him, mismatched eyes wide with concern. "...that...wow..."

"Hey! Don't be pushin' this shit on my ass. He's the fucker who crossed the line!" James whirled, still standing in the doorway. Here in Los Angeles, people didn't tend to give a side-eye to drama unless you were a major celebrity. Unfortunately for the lead guitarist of Lifeline, they were an overnight sensation and had rapidly stepped up to that status. Hell, there was even talk of Hollywood stars with their name upon it.

"Listen to yourself! Fuck, man, he's drunk! He's gunna do shit like that! Yo' ass 's the one who's not completely fuckin' plastered-ass-" A dark, lithe finger jabbed towards the Canadian's chest, only infuriating him more. "-you're supposed to have s'm fuckin' restraint, dickwad!"

" _You're fuckin'_ GAY. You're just defending him cuz he's one of your **_KIND_**." That crossed way over the line and James knew it from the moment it left his lips. Several things happened in that split second: Allen stepped back. James sat huffing. Matthew gasped from the stairs. After a split second the canadian reached out to do some damage control, eyes wide from the statement that sounded so discriminatory, so horrible - even to him.

"You sanctimonious son a' bitch. My kind? You should talk, dick! Sitting there at half mast - don't pretend like yo' ass aint. You wanna hide your shit, fine. But don' fuckin' take it out on others!" Allen stepped up, crossing the line of personal space as his mug came close to James's. Despite the major height difference, Allen still looked surprisingly imposing to the larger canadian in that moment.

"I'M _NOT_ GAY-" The tone was cringe-worthy, defensive to it's last - almost like an animal backed into the corner in the face of a pack of wild, rabid wolves.

"YOU GET HARD FROM MEN-" Allen said, lifting his hand up in the air like he was hitting an annoying fly that had flitted towards his side. Lips curled, features scrunched, he got right up into James's personal space with a menacing, almost threatening, posture. At this point they both jacked up their hips, voices careening up and down the corridors of James's penthouse - and filtering out into the night air. There were probably some paparazzi members that were about to get a major bonus in their paycheck. James didn't care in that moment, his frustration filtering out common sense and restraint.

"I'M DON-"

"Yo' ass 's never been able to fuckin' come ta terms with who ya are! Because yo' ass 's afraid of what people, long dead, fuckin' think! The great iconoclast, Mr. Tattooed, crippled by a drunk'n dead beat! Truth is, you're a fuckin' pussy and you always 've been!" A scream left James's lips at Allen's words, and before anybody saw it coming James had Allen pinned up against a wall - slamming his fists right beside his head and breaking through the plaster an on into the insulation. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet of the night, some dog within the neighbourhood kicking up a routine of 'bark and confusion' to only further the disturbance of the peace they'd been long-since causing.

After a few moments where James sat huffing into a dangerously calm Allen's face...he kicked back and growled; "I never thought I'd say this...but you don't know me."

"I don't KNOW you?" Allen barked out a laugh: "You've hated yo' own an' run from yo' own ass fo' so many years, hearin' that shit makes me sick. I don' even think it's possible fo' yo' ass to really love anybody, or have any sense of who ya really fuckin' are." All of it was said in a gratingly calm tone of voice, one that James noticed made Matthew shepherd a hurt Alfred up the stairs again. One that generated a sense of stark anger that lit up James's whole body, pushing past the alcohol and cocaine coursing through his body. One that left Allen looking neutral in the wake of his best friend's vainly wrathful features. "I hope ya figure it out, but I'm not gunna be part of that Lewis n' Clark."

"I'm NOT gay."

"Fine, you're bi. Bi fuckin' curious. I don't care, really. I know who I am and thats how I fuckin' get through my fuckin' routine. Ya got another drill goin' entirely. And good luck with that, it's clearly working so fuckin' well for yo' ass." And with that, Allen walked away.

This time...

James just let him go.

 

* * *

 

> **March 13th 2028**

 

* * *

 

 

Surprise. " _What_ -?"

"You **do**..." James said again, head turned towards the general direction of his former roommate. "...you do flashback. You think of it all. Not when you die...when you live. It's the moments jus' before you...you die. That you think of the most important things that transpired. Perhaps it's the nature of human psychology. Perhaps it's something deep seeded within our spiritual lives. Whatever it may be... **you do**."

 

* * *

 

 

> **July 1st 2015**

 

* * *

 

 

" **You** _were_ right." Said James's voice, carrying over the sounds of all the patrons milling in and out of the Hard Rock's bar. James could almost hear the frown over his roomate's face. He'd come up behind James, probably to try and do some damage control on the nights ago in which they'd battled. Little did Allen know that James was going to turn around, look him straight in the eye as if he'd sensed him coming through magical means - and say words that shocked the poor guy into surprised silence.

Rather than try and count those chickens, Allen seemed to be inclined to just get straight towards the root of his venture; "List'n, James-"

"Did you come to apologize for the 26th?"

Allen cleared his throat again, just as he had before stepping up behind James. It was one of the reasons why he heard him coming, not that James didn't inherently memorize the sound of Allen's footsteps on the daily, having lived with him consistently for two years already. "Yeah, I did. I'm-"

"Right." James interceded, pausing Allen in his tracks once again. 

"James-"

But The canadian had none of it, holding up a hand to stop him and turning around in the barstool. Although there was music all around them and rock and roll groupies...possible even some journalists looking in for the inside scoop....that didn't matter to James in that moment. "You were right...I didn't know I was..." A long pause in the conversation made Allen's shock only intensify. Vaguely, through brushing hands that scooped back the lion's mane of long hair and carried it into a messy sprawl - the canuck caught sight of Allen's ribcage tightening up. As James watched shock run through the red-head's whole body, brows shooting sky-high as the gist hit him, he waited patiently for a response that never came. When the Canadian recognized Allen was stunned into silence, his decision was to proceed so as to keep the rhythm going before he cut off and ran again; "I just...all those years...all the shit with him...I couldn't face another perceived strike against me. Ya know? I did a lot of things to make that shit go away. To cover it up. Because even after social services, after Olivia, after...after my mother's death...even after...he was still..." He knocked on his head harshly, causing Allen to reach out and pull his palm down as if in defensive instinct. "...still there..." Allen seemed more than aware of who 'he' was, letting himself down in the stool next to James and starting up the motion of rubbing his back. This stuff should've come out during a psychology session, or something born from an intervention....but here? In the pounding lights and filtering former rock stars looking for their last minute of fame?

It wasn't right.

James's features were down into his hands when he heard Allen's phrase, tables turned and shock reflected upon him this time. "I'm not with Matthew-" It was obviously blurted out on a split second whim, all grand social customs thrown out the window in the face of rapid fire decisions.

The canadian just whirled around to his counterpart, eyes widened so far they could be compared to flying saucers in a heart beat. For some reason all James could think of was _Mike Meyers_ saying 'ex-squeeeeze meeee? Baking powder?' which was just....just weird. "I thought you and Matthew-"

"It...didn't work. Mattie and I were, yeah. But the lil' fucker was just...he was r'l sweet n' shit? But nah. You wanna know why?" There was a pause long enough for James to wince, so he filled the void of silence with his own contemplation on the matter.

"-'ouldn' be because of your talent in the bedroom. I've seen the men you bring home, in the mornin'. They look fucking dazzled like there's no tommorow." James grinned and lifted up a sip of his Gin and Tonic, eyes slightly misty from the realization of it all. Yes, it was shocking, but somehow he'd always wondered if the tender look in Allen's eyes was more than just some perceived 'brotherly affection' for 'the dude whom gave him a home'. Hell, James wondered sometimes if he didn't give Allen a room in his pent-house BECAUSE he'd always, deep down, felt that way for him even going back to their days in college. Allen was still silent. James looked over at him and saw the look in his eyes almost instantly - giving him pause; "What-" _Oh for god's sake._ "...fine. Why didn't it fuckin' work?"

"Because my ass is one hundred fuckin' sure fire, kiss ma' ass, call me grandma - in love with yo' stupid, lazy, grumblin', fuckin' moose humpin' butt." 

It wasn't romantic.

Not by any stretch. 

But the lips on his sure felt nice, and it wasn't long before they took the conversation back to James's pent house for a little more sensual 'tit for tat' than the kind they'd previously partook in, within their college years.

 

* * *

 

 

> **March 13th 2028**

* * *

 

 

"...But short answer? _You do_. You think of every important moment in your life when you're on the verge of death. Every little thing that you hold dear..." James felt his voice go dry, so he stopped in the wake of an overwhelming wave of fatigue. Although he couldn't see Allen's features, he didn't have to - he knew that the male was probably shocked into silence - those mismatched eyes wide - or perhaps clasped down from his eyebrows.

After a round of stumbling, in which James occasionally heard Allen's lips smack from opening and close in stunned silence - James got to his point. "...Pull the plug."

"What-?" This time, the voice became higher - louder than it had been and raised by an obvious octave.

"...You're the only one who can do it. _By_ law. _You_ can..."

* * *

 

 

> **August 21st 2018**

* * *

 

 

"Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today to join these too fuckers into a sex and rock n' roll marraige-" There were some hoots from the crowd, the informality of Alfred's tone way too perfect for the kind of ceremony James and Allen were looking for. On James's right, Matthew stood shaking his head with his arms crossed, eyes closed and mouth upturned in an all-too-exasperated grin. On Allen's right, there was a smoking Louis whom looked perfectly at home in this off-the-beaten-path cathedral in Europe. It was spur of the moment, so only a few gathered people whom had been there at the right time, and recognized them, their manager, and a couple strangers from Sony Musical Records were in attendance. But that's the way James had wanted it...

He didn't want a big deal where the press would take a thousand pictures and they'd never just get a single moment to reflect - and he certainly didn't want to risk the drama of some over pompous right wing extremist getting in on the wedding and sprouting lies about how they should be 'clean for the children' as a celebrity. After years of finding himself, he was tired of that behaviour and the only thing it did was drudge up many years of his father's abuse, he didn't need to concentrate upon. 

"So fuck yeah, fuck to your hearts content - play _Def Leopard_ so loud the neigbours can't hear, and fuck all the bitches who say love isn't love! You may now sloppily kiss cuz lord knows you too don't do it very well-" James pushed Alfred a little, sending him sprawling backwards and stumbling to catch himself on a nearby mesa. After a shake of his head, James turned back towards the man who bound himself in his arms and kissed. Allen got a little more heated and clasped James's ass, probably just to spite Alfred for saying they couldn't kiss worth a darn.

A few hoots from the crowd and a wolf whistle (no doubt belonging to their Manger Francis, who - let's face it was just a little overindulgent to the sexual connotations of the world...not that he wasn't a nice guy or anything, he just had his moments-) later, they parted. James grinned, staring into his lover's eyes without restraint - he felt his heart soar from the moment.

"Okay, great. This is lovely, and congrats both of you - but we have a gig in thirty minutes. Can we wrap up the groping before you two have sex in front of us?" Louis's sharp tongue cut through the veil of the lover's moment, leaving them to blink into the realization that, yes, the world was going on around them.

Although Allen looked ready to retort, James held up his wrist and checked the Rollex covering up some of his tattoos; "No, actually, you're right. Let's get going. Allen? Care to join us backstage?"

"You couln' get rid of my ass if ya tried, now, big boy- where are the fuckin' rings?" 

* * *

 

**March 13th 2028**

 

* * *

 

 

"...James..." The fact that he'd said his full name implicated Allen in just how torn he was, completely overwhelmed by the emotions of sorrow at the request.

"...please...Allen. Sil te plait...I'm...I'm not going to survive this...I just...give me peace. Tell them to take my nutrients from my wrist...I-"

"FINE...fine..." He felt Allen's body wrap around him, shaking and weak from the situation. James knew how hard it must be for Allen to go through this, but asking his husband, his roomate, his lover, to do such a thing? The concept was horrible, he'd stayed up all night fretting over this conversation...

But it couldn't be avoided.

Footsteps left the room after a while, leaving James to his final thoughts. And after all of it, the many years he'd spent with Allen, he wouldn't take them back for the world. None of them had been perfect, and certainly during their years as college roommates it wasn't easy. But...

This was how fate was.

You struggle against it, you suffer.

He'd struggled against it for 21 years. And when he finally amped down into reality, he found some comfort in his lot in life. And although he'd struggled through years of needles and addiction...eventually ending up with him sitting upon this hospital bed so worn down and beaten-

 

> * * *
> 
>  

What was that sound?

Was it beeping?

Where was he?

 

> * * *
> 
>  

He was missing something...but he couldn't even remember his own name...

A light-

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

> **April 1st 2028**
> 
> **2:32 pm**

* * *

 

 

 

Black robes.  
  
Fold out chairs.  
  
Black roses.  
  
Red carpet.  
  
Overcast skies.  
  
Crimson beir.  
  
Black casket.  
  
Three mourners.  
  
Meloncholy sonet.

One commonality.

 

James could barely feel himself, floating in the manner he was. It was like he could see the proceedings laid out before him like this, taking note of these things...but despite the sad sensation within the air...

He felt at peace.

Although he had no head, and he couldn't exactly place what he was using for observances (whether that'd be eyes or something far more incomprehensible) he still managed to find his...his vision...landing on the only consistency in his life. Allen stood in the rain, worn by time and place, by James's very actions. He'd stood by him for many years, through anger and pain and drug abuse. And he still stood next to him...in a fashion. For despite sitting here as cognizant of his surroundings, as he ever had been, James very well knew he was departed. There wasn't really a shock factor in it.

It was just a statement of fact.

He was dead.

And he didn't really feel torn by the fact at all. 

The only pain he felt was for his lover, and yet even that was a dull ache for he knew in time he'd be with him again, and there they'd never have to part ways in any capicity. Still, he wanted him to know something - he wanted him to know he was till around...in a sense. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Thanks for coming..." Allen said for the upteenth time that day, keeping it together surprisingly well for someone who had to make that final decision. It had felt like a tear in his heart hearing his lover say those words, and yet somehow...he just knew that was what James was thinking the whole time. Sitting in that hospital room for the entire night was like an eternity interupted by the pain and inner turmoil scratching the walls of his psyche without end. The only thing his lover, his college roomate, his housemate, his friend, his everything - did...by voicing it? Was just that. He'd put the pain and inner turmoil into words, confirming what Allen had suspected.

And although that wasn't exactly easy to hear, he heard it loud and clear.

A surprising wind kicked up behind him, leaving him to shiver a little before his ears kicked up with surprising tinnitus. Where it came from he had no idea, but it was only after he recognized it that a familiar voice drifted in from his subconscious.

 **You do**.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

 _Step out the front door like a ghost  
_ _Into the fog where no one notices the_  
**_Contrast of white on white._ **  
**_And in between the moon and you the angels_ **  
**_Get a better view of the crumbling_ **  
_Difference between wrong and right._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know this meandered slightly from the original concept of being roomates, and although I originally meant it to strictly focus on their college years, the depression of my animal's loss really took me over the past week. The more I worked on it the more I found this coming out - and I just didn't bother stopping it.


End file.
